


we all need someone to stay

by Amortentia_Zarry



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Boys Kissing, Comfort, Depression, Emotional Hurt, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, M/M, Post-War, implied eating disorder
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-17
Updated: 2018-07-17
Packaged: 2019-06-12 03:37:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 770
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15330885
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Amortentia_Zarry/pseuds/Amortentia_Zarry
Summary: Most days the darkness seems to eat away at his humanity.





	we all need someone to stay

**Author's Note:**

> Unbeta’d. Sorry.
> 
> This was basically just sitting around doing nothing, so I decided to publish it. 
> 
> Harry Potter, it’s universe and all it’s characters do not belong to me. They belong to J. K. Rowling and Warner Bros. This purely a work of Fiction.
> 
> -Savannah

He is pale.

Startling ivory stretched over delicate bones, skin as thin as rice paper. A ghost of a frown dances across his lips, once smooth, rosebud pink, now turned almost colourless and chapped, creased and flaking. His hair is grease slicked and standing on end in a way that it had never done before…only after. His eyes, once sparkling silver, now a dull grey. 

They are distant. 

They are emotionless. 

They do not belong to him.

And yet somehow they do, move from left to right in slow indifference as his half-functioning brain, still drunk on lack of sleep, commands them to. Draco can barely comprehend that the zombie-like specimen in the mirror staring back at him, is himself. Because this is not how it was supposed to be. And fucking Potter had won the war. And that’s what he’d expected, that’s what he’d wanted. Draco can admit that to himself now. 

He had wanted Potter to win the war.

But now his father was locked away in a cell in Azkaban, and no matter how many times the voice in his head tried to tell him that that was what he deserved, his heart couldn’t seem to comprehend it. His father had been severe and strict, controlling and at times cruel…but he was still his father. It didn’t matter how much they tried to get Draco to hate him, he just couldn’t. It was only by God’s grace that Potter had won the war. He knew that. But Lucius was just a man trying to save his family. And it was unfair only because if he deserved to be in Azkaban…

Then so did Draco.

He was shaking now. Trembling. Body wracked with tremors that felt like earthquakes, the vibrations so violent he could feel his bones rattle. There’s a pin-sharp sensation prickling at the back of his nose and he is so filled with emptiness that he can almost feel the tears seep through pores of his skin, because the war stole his ability to cry. He faintly hears the click of a door but he doesn’t turn around, too caught up in the storm of emotions inside of him. If every raindrop that falls is a tear, then he’s been drowning in a flood for too long.

/I never did learn to swim./ He thinks wryly.

He can feel his legs wobble beneath his own weight. He hasn’t eaten in days, every time he tries the food seems to get stuck, unable to push past the permanent lump in his throat.

He thinks he might faint.

Strong, muscled arms fold around his skeletal frame, grounding him. The blizzard stops, the snow begins to slow, rain becomes drizzle. It is a temporary relief that glows within him like a yellow sun. He is still a long way from turning the vast deserts of his soul into rose gardens. Most days the darkness seems to eat away at his humanity. Often times, he finds himself questioning his own sanity. 

But then he feels those arms, that touch, those lips and it’s like a kiss from gravity. 

And thank Merlin for Blaise Zabini.

Draco really doesn’t know what he’d do without him. He thinks he says that out loud because Blaise is chuckling. Draco’s mouth twitches. 

Their lips touch. They kiss.

Slow and languidly. 

Every slide of their lips seem to breathe life back into him, feeding him back pieces of his soul that he didn’t know he had lost. Blaise doesn’t say anything about the rips in his skin where the dark mark used to be, or the skin covered ribs bulging out of his body, or the blackouts, or the clumps of hair at the bottom of the shower. Instead he weaves their fingers together like thread and aligns their palms so that Draco can feel waves of warmth traveling up his arm and settling in his heart. It makes him feel safe in a way that he hasn’t since before the war. Since fifth year. He carries Draco to bed and runs his fingers through his hair. 

“What do you need?” It’s asked softly, gently.

Draco tries to swallow back the gnawing anxiety building up in his throat. He doesn’t want him to leave. But if the war has taught him anything, it’s that people don’t live forever. Sometimes you don’t get a chance to tell someone how you feel. 

“You.” He whispers.

He hears Blaise’s sharp inhale of breath. He doesn’t get a chance to panic though because Blaise is already speaking-

“Always.” He says, accompanied by a small, soft smile. 

It’s enough.

~

**Author's Note:**

> Please feel free to drop a comment or a kudo if ya liked it :)


End file.
